Tomorrow and Everything After
by Angela Kip
Summary: "Everyone grieves, Shepard. It just presents differently in each individual." "So how come you never see it happen?" FemShep, immediate aftermath of the Colonist background.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Trigger warning for discussion of suicide and self-harm.**

* * *

**DAY ZERO**

"_Oh God. Hall, there's someone in here. Hurry, she's bleeding."_

"_Who – who are you?" The hands go out, a knife thrust forward in warning._

"_Hey, kid, I'm here to help – put that down. I'm gonna take a step towards you now, okay?"_

" – _No! _Mother_!"_

* * *

As much as Dr. Rebecca Vogel likes her job, it's nice to have the medical bay empty for a while. She's reorganized the room, caught up on her messages, and there's still been plenty of time to sit and think and wonder if she's even going to be needed. They landed on Mindoir three and a half hours ago in response to a distress signal, and the only thing she's been told since the search group went out is that they're "seeing a lot of bodies and gunning down a lot of batarians." You don't expect a call about survivors after three hours and seventeen minutes of radio silence, but that's when one comes in. A tinny voice demanding, "You there, Doc?"

It's an audio-only call, but her head snaps up anyway, as though there's something to see. "Who's out there?"

"We've got some kid – she's pretty freaked out. Found her with a knife in her hand and her throat cut. Hall's stabilizing her now."

"That sounds like a suicide attempt. Can you find out whether she knows if anyone else is still alive out there?"

"I tried, but she flipped out. Doesn't want to talk to us. As soon as the bleeding's controlled we'll bring her up – maybe she'll do better with a woman. I've gotta be honest, this place isn't looking too good."

"No, I can't imagine it would be." She presses her lips together. "How old is she, do you think?"

"Looks about thirteen. I gotta go – expect us in half an hour."

With the signal cut, the doctor's alone again, but not for much longer. With a sad little sigh, she goes to make up one of the beds, silently attempting to prepare herself for the unexpected.

* * *

Trying to think about anything at all is enough to make the girl dizzy. All she can acknowledge is what is here and now, and if she tries to push it she's afraid she'll – she'll – she doesn't know. Something bad.

They're in the back of a car and the men are talking. She's sprawled out on the seat, one of them kneeling next to her so he can keep her head steady. His mouth is moving and she's distinctly certain words are coming out, but she can't turn the sounds into recognizable English. She tries to tell herself that it doesn't matter right now.

No. That hurts, too. Stop thinking.

She waits, silent, in the back of the car taking her away from the wreckage of her home.

* * *

Dr. Vogel is ready and waiting when the crew comes back in; she takes their minimal report and eyes the girl, who hardly looks up. Her wrists are crossed in front of her like some sort of prisoner, and blood's beginning to seep through her bandages.

"Kiddo?" She bends slightly, trying to look the girl in the eyes. "I'm Dr. Vogel, the medical staff on this ship. We're going to go on back and get this stitched up, all right?"

The kid's chest is rising and falling, shaking a little like she wants to cry, but she doesn't acknowledge the other. Vogel prays whatever explosions may have happened haven't damaged her hearing.

"Can you hear me?" she says sharply, and the girl's head jerks down once. "Okay. I know you're scared, but we need to get this taken care of. There's a machine that's going to stitch it and take some scans…" She keeps talking as she takes the girl into the medical bay by the elbow, and in less than five minutes the machines are done. The report feeds out for logging purposes: eight stitches in the neck, signs of moderate concussion. Vogel eases the younger down onto a bed as another call comes through.

"Got a last one, but he looks pretty bad."

"What's happened?" If these were ideal circumstances, she wouldn't have to speak within earshot of the girl, but there's no other choice right now.

"I'm counting at least three broken bones poking through the skin, signs of severe brain injury…"

Vogel swears under her breath, making the girl look up. "Can you give me the report when you get back? I don't want to…"

"We're doing our best with him, Doc."

She realizes she's going to have to deal with the girl.

* * *

The first thing that comes back to her is that she's Hannah Shepard's kid. That's how it always was, a daughter stuck in her mother's shadow, except that now it needs to change.

Then she can remember more than she wants to.

Mindoir was attacked by batarians on a raid who did their damndest to kill everyone in their way. Dead bodies all around, the living ones taken away as slaves, or hostages, or something else terrible. She doesn't know where they went.

They came and tried to get her out, too, and she almost came with them, almost got right up out of that shelter her mom – _my mother, Hannah Shepard_ - shoved her into and gave herself up because _what was the point in staying if everyone else is DEAD _– then –

She sits down hard, overcome with dizziness.

* * *

The girl sits down on a bed, clutching at her temples, and Dr. Vogel leans over.

"Are you all right?" There's no answer, not that she was expecting one, so she continues. "I'm going to leave you here for a bit. Our navigator will watch you, okay? He's right over there." She gestures in the direction of the doorway, where the navigator is already in position. "We'll leave the door open in case we need to get to you fast. I promise I'll be right back."

The bit about the door isn't the full reason, and she suspects the girl knows it. There's no reason to believe she hasn't stabbed herself with a knife and no sign that somebody else did it. It's suicide watch, plain and simple.

And she walks out and the girl's all alone.

* * *

If the stories are to be believed, Shepard should have a completely blank mind right about now. Clearly the stories lie. When she breathes in, she sees her mother's face as she tries to keep her child safe before working on saving her own life. When she breathes out, she hears screaming and death all around her, the noises pounding down like raindrops, shaking her to her core.

Through this blur she hears the doctor. There is another person they found, a big man, who died in their car on the way to the ship.

She's the only one on all of fucking Mindoir who isn't dead or prisoner.

* * *

They had a pretty strong feeling he was going to die, but it doesn't make it any easier. You never get used to seeing corpses. Quietly, the doctor goes to pick through her stash of emergency clothes, hoping the one Mindoir survivor has seen and heard nothing yet knowing better. When she appears, the navigator nods at her and saunters away so she can go into the room with the girl. Said child is still sat on the bed, curled into the fetal position and staring blankly at the wall.

"Kiddo?" Vogel sets the clothes down. "Would you like to change? You must be awfully hot." The girl's in jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and a hoodie, the latter two stained with blood. She doesn't respond, so the doctor presses: "I really need you to put on a clean shirt. You don't have to shower if you don't want to, but it's not a good idea for you to stay in bloody ones."

She seems to decide to compromise, uncrossing her ankles and removing her shirt hesitantly. Vogel feels a tug to leave the room, to let the girl retain at least some of her dignity, but she knows she can't so she gazes idly off to the left. When the girl is done changing she looks up, kicks off her shoes, and makes eye contact with the doctor. A compromise – Vogel feels a surge of hope.

"Hey, kiddo, I need to ask you an important question now. Okay?" She bends slightly, getting closer to the other. "Do you know if there's anyone else out there we can get to? Anybody at all?"

She hesitates, looks down, shakes her head. She mouths something starting with an H, and Vogel's eyes widen.

"What was that?"

The redhead flexes her fingers, spelling out something in a sign language, then mouthing again. _Hostages_.

Vogel tries to keep her composure. "Where, honey? Do you know where?"

Their eyes meet and the world collapses. By the time Vogel realizes she's pushed too hard, the girl's screaming, and her head goes back and slams against the wall. There is a sound like a tennis ball hitting concrete and the doctor grabs her, but she's already in the fetal position again with her hands up to her head.

"Listen to me." She waits until the girl's breathing slows. "Kiddo, listen to me. You can't do that. You've already got a concussion and if we think you're not safe, we have to do everything we can to protect you." She feels the girl nod. "Okay. I'm going to let you go now, okay?"

Another nod, and she backs off. The child sits normally, rubbing the bump at the back of her head with one hand and wincing a little. She seems only a little calmer, clearly still close to snapping, and the doctor's heart goes out to her. Young people are resilient, but the connections in the girl's brain are clearly ping-ponging rapidly, trying and failing to establish the right connections. They've gotten all the information they're going to get, at least for tonight. She hands over an ice pack and the girl presses it to the back of her head.

"Do you want something to eat or drink? Or would you like to go to sleep?"

The girl's eyes brighten for half a moment but then her shoulders slump. She gives a dejected shake of her head.

Vogel guesses at her thoughts. "I can't give you anything for sleep. I'm sorry. We'll need to wake you up to check on you because of those injuries…"

The girl looks down again, her whole body shaking with little tremors. It hurts to watch; she's clearly at breaking point, but God, she is trying so, so hard. After a moment she regains her composure, sliding her legs up onto the bed and lowering herself to lie down. The back of her head meets the stuffed bear Vogel put there earlier and the girl looks at it, hesitates, then brushes it aside.

Vogel brushes her fingers along the girl's jawline. "You're going to be okay," she murmurs, and she's not sure which one of them she's reassuring. "I'm going to turn the lights down. Kiddo, one more thing." She kneels, placing both palms down on the bed. "Like I told you, I have to wake you up sometimes to make sure you're all right. When I do that, I want you to just go back to sleep, all right?" She draws the blanket back and the girl clutches at it, pulling up. As Vogel goes to sit in the chair by the door, she turns the lights down just enough to be able to see a bit.

It's two hours before she falls asleep. For two hours Vogel watches that body twitch and squirm against unfamiliar sheets, and just before her eyes close she looks into the doctor's. The now-melted ice pack is pressed against the side of her head, and her eyes are those of someone staring up from hell.


	2. Chapter 2

**DAY ONE**

"Do you know what day of the week it is?"

Shepard rubs at her eyes with the back of her hand. "It's…it's Wednesday, isn't it? No." It's dark, it must be past midnight. "It's Thursday now."

"Good. What is your name?"

She closes her eyes to block out the lights, mentally grasping at nothing. "'M tired. Will you back off?" she asks, but there's no venom behind it. She doesn't have the energy for that.

"Do you not remember your name?" Now the voice sounds concerned. To hell with that, though. Shepard's drifting off again.

"I told you, 'm sleepy."

There's a sharp pain in her shoulder and she jerks, rolling over and opening her eyes again. She squints up at the doctor, who looks as tired as Shepard feels. "What'd you do that for?"

"I'm sorry," she says insincerely. "This is very important. We have to make sure you're okay – I wanted to see if you responded."

For a moment Shepard debates whacking her in the face and seeing if _she_ responds, but she dismisses the idea. Too much energy. "Just let me go back to sleep."

"One last question, and then you can. Do you know where you are?"

"Hospital." It's the only place they ever ask that question. "Aren't I?" As she says it she knows she's wrong, but the woman rubs her on the shoulder forcefully.

"Go ahead and relax. I'm going to…"

She doesn't hear the rest. It doesn't matter. Shepard allows herself to be pulled down under again, into the crashing black abyss.

* * *

Vogel doesn't sleep well, and the constant alarms don't help (thank God the soundproofing on the ship is adequate, or the commander would wring her neck). There are people up at all hours tonight trying to get messages to the batarians holding hostages, and one wrong move will render them all dead except the girl sleeping across the room. The doctor prays she isn't dreaming.

It's five when she gives up trying to sleep. At the sound of the alarm she goes to wake the girl again and finds that there's no need. The redhead's awake but with eyes glazed over, idly rubbing a piece of the blanket between her thumb and forefinger. Vogel repeats her questions.

"Hannah Shepard," the girl slurs dreamily. "I'm, they called me 'that Shepard kid.'" She closes her eyes. "I wanna sleep. Tell 'em to let me sleep."

"You can sleep." When Shepard drifts off again, Vogel turns and begins a series of extranet searches, looking through school records from Mindoir. Hannah Shepherd, Hannah Shephard, Hanna Shepherd, Hanna Shephard, there _must_ be more spelling variations here. Perhaps she said _Anna_ Shepherd? But over twenty searches later, nothing has come up.

* * *

Shepard opens her eyes and the yellow numbers on the clock burn holes into her brain: seven-five-three. It clearly isn't matched with Mindoir's time, she thinks dimly. She's not used to waking up before ten. It comes back to her that this must be a hospital, but she's not sure of that.

She curls her knees up to her chest and rolls over, watching a dark-haired woman work at a desk. It's too blue in here to be a hospital. And where did she get these clothes?

Seven minutes later an alarm goes off and the woman silences it before turning around. She meets Shepard's eyes and gives her a little smile. "Oh, you're up already," she says quietly. "Good morning. Do you know where you are?"

"You've been asking all night," Shepard mutters. "Have I got it right yet?"

That draws a chuckle from the woman. "Sense of humor. That's a good sign. Do you know why we keep asking, honey?"

"I get hit on the head or something?"

She nods. "You've been having some trouble remembering." She tilts her head to the side. "I'm sorry I have to ask this. Do you know why you are here?"

"I – "

The film reel starts. Batarians. Screams and gunshots and strong hands on her shoulders. Her mother.

"_Don't open this door! I'll see – "_

- more screaming drowning out her words. Hostages, neatly marching lines, sickening cracks and blood running under the door. The knife. The door opening and the impact.

"_Mother_!"

"Kiddo?"

Vogel reaches for the younger's hands and Shepard scrambles backwards off the bed, landing hard on her tailbone. Her chest heaves and oh God she can't breathe. Nails clawing at the floor, scrabbling for something to hold on to, it feels like someone has just kicked her in the stomach. She's cornered herself, back wedged against the wall, one hand in her mouth and she's biting down so hard her fingers are turning purple.

"Hannah!"

Hearing that name is a sharp shock back to reality, enough to make her pull her fingers out of her mouth. A sharp gasp of pain escapes her and she wedges her hand between tightly-closed thighs. She's momentarily distracted by another source of pain, this time her mouth, and while she's registering that the doctor comes forward to leave Shepard effectively immobile.

"Look at me," she orders. "If I let you get up, what are you going to do?"

Shepard runs her tongue over her teeth, wincing where she feels her gums bleeding a little. "I'm gonna – I'm gonna lie down on the bed."

"Can you promise me that?"

"I promise." She tries to squeeze her thighs together harder, but the woman takes her hand.

"Okay." It only takes Vogel a quick glance at the refugee's hand before she's reaching to wrap it in ice. Shepard rises to her feet long enough to climb back into bed and curl up on her side.

"How do you know that name?" she asks finally. "I'm not…"

"Take this. It will calm you down." Vogel hands her a capsule and a cup of water and Shepard drinks it down. "Do you remember I kept asking you who you were all night? You told me Hannah Shepard. Was that not right?"

Shepard can feel the pill slam into her almost instantly, shutting down her higher thinking functions. "No. Hannah's my mom."

"Oh, I see. How old are you?"

"Sixteen. She says – she says I'm a late bloomer," she adds to the doctor's imploring look, but immediately regrets it. A chill goes down her spine and her head lolls forward, chest heaving. _Don't scream. Please don't scream._

"It's okay. You're okay." The doctor reaches for Shepard's unoccupied hand. "And what is _your_ name, kiddo?"

At least she can answer that calmly. "Emilia."

Vogel gives the polite response: "That's a nice name."

"No it isn't," the younger says bluntly. "It's a boring name and everyone calls me Shepard or Shep." She rubs at her hand idly and takes a deep breath. "Can you explain to me what happened? From the beginning."

It takes five sentences. A sixth to say, "I'm so sorry."

Shepard's dimly aware of her hands pressed against the wall, shaking. All of her is shaking. "I don't want them to be dead," she says stupidly, and slams the side of her fist against the wall with more force than she intends. There's going to be a bruise there tomorrow. "I don't want them to be dead," she repeats.

Vogel presses her elbows to her knees. "Honey, you're still in shock. It's completely understandable."

_And what the hell are you telling me that for?_ Shepard wants to say, but she can't get the words out. It's that goddamn pill's fault. "How long does it take to go away?" she asks instead.

"In cases such as this, the worst of it should dissolve within about three days."

Shepard barely registers that. She might as well have said it would take forever. What's left of the day? Too many hours and nothing to fill them. She wants to go back to sleep.

"Emilia?"

"Just call me Shepard. I _hate_ Emilia."

"Shepard, then," she says with a smile. "Why don't you try to eat something? It will make you feel better."

Where do they have food on a military ship? Surely not in the medical room. The idea of going out and facing anyone, of trying to be grateful that they rescued her when everyone she knew and loved has died, is sickening. "I'm not hungry."

The doctor reaches into a cabinet and pulls out an apple. "Try for me," she coaxes. "You don't have to eat much."

Shepard takes it. "Don't you have other people to patch up besides me?" she says, but she bites into it. The motion is strong and satisfying.

"Not as far as I'm aware. As long as we're docked, there isn't much to do but wait. And," Vogel adds with a tiny smile, "I'm usually one of the last to get news."

"But we aren't going to _stay_ docked, are we?"

"There are still some searches going on, and they're trying to reason with the batarians." She lifts Shepard's chin. "It's possible not all is lost."

"My family is dead. I saw." Shepard slams the half-eaten fruit on a nearby counter before taking another bite. "I don't want to stay. I don't want this to be how I remember Mindoir." She looks up, suddenly astonished. "Where am I going to go?"

The doctor is ready with an answer. "We're in contact with a social worker who's looking for a respite home that will take a girl your age. As soon as we have the information, that's where you'll go."

"But it won't be on Mindoir."

"That's true."

"It might not even be in the same system."

"That's true."

"I don't want to go." She punctuates this with a loud chomp. "I don't want to go and I don't want to stay here." She pauses, turning the apple over in her hands. "Do people in the military grieve?"

She can tell she's caught Vogel off guard. "Well, why do you ask?"

_Because my dad wanted – SHUT UP!_ "I asked first."

"That really isn't the way you speak to adults."

"Sorry," Shepard says unconvincingly.

"Everyone grieves, Shepard. It just presents differently in each individual."

"So how come you never see it happen? How come regular people react when their life gets fucked up and people in the military don't? Are some people just born like that?"

Vogel brushes off the counter. "No, kiddo. It has to do with bottling it up until it's safe to let it out. It's really not a good idea if you don't have to. A large number of them end up with PTSD or depression."

Shepard picks at the apple seeds. "I don't think it can get much worse for me," she says nonchalantly. "My mom and dad wanted me in the military." _No. You've said too much._

"And did you like the idea? Is that why you're curious?"

"Forget it. I don't want to talk about it." She gazes down at the apple and notices how the marks on her fingers are slowly beginning to fade, leaving reddish marks behind. Irrationally, she wants to sink her teeth into those places again. She bites at the core and her gums protest.

"What in the world are you doing?"

"Nothing." She chucks it in the trash. What the hell is she thinking? She wants to _bite_ herself? Does she have brain damage or something? "How thorough of an exam did you run on me?"

"We typically begin with a basic overall scan before moving on to any affected areas and doing a more thorough scan. In your case, the head and neck area." She watches intently as Shepard runs a finger across the stitches. "Do you remember doing that?"

_What do you think? You think I'd fucking slice myself and then forget about it? How crazy do you think I am? No, wait. I wanted to bite myself. I must be crazy._ "Yeah. I don't want to talk about it."

"We'll have to eventually."

"Later." At once she feels like she's about to burst out crying. "I want to go back to sleep," she says, muttering it so the doctor can't hear the catch in her voice.

"Em – Shepard, I know it hurts, but you can't just sleep through your problems. It isn't going to help."

"Nothing is going to help. They're. All. _Dead_. They're all fucking dead and nobody can do a thing about it!" She's holding a fistful of her own hair and her scalp stings. When did that happen? "God damn it!"

"Shepard." Vogel takes her wrists and Shepard throws herself backward, forgetting that behind the bed is nothing but a wall. Dizziness again, more pain. She tries to control herself, but there's someone else in her body and she's just trying to get control again.

"Make it stop." She's crying now, still trying to pull free of the doctor's grasp. "Please, please. Make it stop. It hurts."

"Are you able to stop if I let go?" The doctor's tone shows that she knows the answer.

"I can't. I – please!" She throws her head back again and the doctor yanks her forward to prevent any further head injury.

"Shepard, get up." She transfers both wrists to one hand, holding her securely, and Shepard is about ready to break her stitches if it will mean she gets control of what is happening again. Nothing. The person inside her is angry, screaming and thrashing. The doctor has a needle.

"No! No! Get the fuck away from me!"

"Close your eyes, Shepard," she says firmly, and she reaches back and –

* * *

She rather hates sedation, but it was probably the kindest option. Vogel tries to tell herself that as the girl collapses and the doctor guides her to lie back down. At least she will be out of her misery for a few hours.

Vogel sits down and opens a comm channel to an old friend. There's no nice way to say it: "I hate to interrupt you, Carol, but would you happen to know if rather severe self-harm in a teenager exposed to recent trauma is normal?"

"Boy." Carol sounds wiped out. "That depends. How bad are we talking?"

"An entire colony was killed and she's apparently seen all of it. That was about twenty-four hours ago. Suicide attempt on record already." It sounds like she's chickening out, so she adds, "I don't mean it's too much. I was just wondering if this is something to be more concerned about. She keeps trying to hurt herself."

"I don't think there's a 'normal' or 'abnormal' for a situation like that, Rebecca." Carol sighs. "Wish I could be of more help. How's she now?"

"I had to sedate her. She was trying to cause head injury. She keeps doing that, actually. Just slamming her head on the wall."

"I recommend you find some way to keep her head stable. Don't restrain unless necessary. That help?"

"Thanks, Carol."

As she signs off, Vogel dearly wishes she smoked so she could go out and have a cigarette. It will be a few hours at least before the girl is up, so she sets up her unfinished paperwork quickly. Her hand grazes against Shepard's forehead, feeling the bump from the first injury, before she arrived. "I'm sorry, kiddo," and then she turns away.


	3. Chapter 3

**DAY TWO**

She can hear them before she can respond. It feels like the room is spinning even though her eyes are closed, so she lies back and listens to the news broadcast playing in the background. Something about guns. When she gets up the strength to open her eyes, she realizes she's being lightly shaken awake.

"Kiddo? Come on, let's get up. It's been over eight hours."

Shepard wants to make a smart remark, but all that comes out is a strangled, "Nnng," as she tries to work her tongue free from the roof of her mouth. It takes a long moment, Vogel looking over her in a way that makes her uneasy, and Shepard clicks her tongue a few times. "Whaa…?"

"The sedation is still wearing off. Give it a few minutes."

Shepard gazes at her hand and slowly moves each finger, beginning to regain feeling in her body as the minutes tick by. One side of her face is sticky with drool, and the bed is wet beneath her thighs. She cringes a little at the realization. "I, I wan – I wanna taaaaaay a shaw-ah."

"You'd like a shower?"

"Yeah." She wipes the spit off her mouth. "'M sorrah."

"The sedatives I have were designed over fifty years ago. They're trusted, but they have a lot of side effects. It usually isn't an issue."

The unspoken hangs in the room: _I usually don't have to use them._

"'M sorrah."

"I didn't want to leave you like that."

Slowly Shepard brings herself up to a sitting position, leaning back against the wall. She still feels unsteady, but the desire to get out of these clothes overwhelms the way the room sways. "Carn I hab a shaw-er? I di-dun mean tah…"

"No, I know. You can have a shower soon. It needs to drain out of your system or you won't be able to stand for long enough."

"How long…?"

"Different for every patient. It'll help if you have some water." She hands her a glass and Shepard clumsily brings it to her mouth, slopping a good part of it on her front when she tries to get a drink.

It's half an hour before she can get around to that shower, and she still falls over halfway through. From a chair in the corner, Vogel stares politely at the wall as Shepard gets back up, hating herself. It occurs to her that she's washing off all traces of Mindoir, and that makes her start crying so hard she has to shut off the water and hurriedly wrap herself in a towel, her chest heaving as she sobs.

_Stupid! What the hell has gotten into you? Stupid, stupid!_

"It's a common side effect of the sedatives," the doctor says, like she's reading Shepard's thoughts.

At least she can form a coherent sentence now in order to say what she should have questioned fifteen minutes ago. "You watch all your patients in the shower?"

"Only the ones on suicide watch."

Shepard feels like a balloon with all the air let out of it, and she feels behind her for a ledge to sit down. "There's no reason to…"

Vogel's mouth is a straight line. "Did you or did you not cut into your neck?"

"I missed the jugular. It wasn't bleeding the right way." It occurs to her how ridiculous this conversation is. "I had to do it."

"And why is that?" the doctor wants to know.

"If I tell you, will you stop watching me?"

"That depends what you tell me, but probably not. You've already admitted what you were trying to do, and for that you have to be watched."

"I'm not fucking going to try it again!" she explodes. "I just didn't want them to take me away! Okay?"

"But that was very risky, Shepard. If there hadn't been ships landing at the right time, or if you'd angled it differently, you would have easily been beyond help."

God, this woman is an idiot. "That was the _point_. Why the hell are you trying to keep me alive when they're all dead?"

"Because life matters, kiddo."

She deflates again. "It does? I mean, it does. But the batarians…"

"Why did you cut your throat, Shepard?"

"Because I heard so much screaming and I saw the bodies of – of people I knew, and I thought there wasn't a point if they were all dead. Then the batarians came and opened the doors and I screamed so loud and I…I don't remember when I did it. There was blood everywhere but it didn't hurt."

"It didn't?"

"No. One of them said there was no point in taking a corpse away and then they shut the door and left."

Vogel brushes a lock of hair behind her ear. "I expect you were frightened."

"I didn't feel anything. There was so much blood but it wasn't coming out like it would if I hit the jugular, so I went to try again and then those men came in and bandaged me up and took me away. I think I threw my knife at them."

The doctor looks like she doesn't know what to say. "I'm so sorry."

"Can I have my clothes back?" the redhead says stupidly. "I don't know where you put them."

"Are you sure you'd like to wear that? You're going to get awfully hot."

"I never say anything I'm not sure of, Doc."

Vogel makes her promise to drink lots of water, but she lets Shepard curl up in her own clothes. They don't smell like Mindoir anymore, but military standard soap. She realizes they must have been washed, probably to get the blood out.

Somehow she's sitting in the medical room with a tray of food in front of her – tacos swimming in grease, and rice. She's trying to eat without breaking down and doing a mostly successful job.

"Shepard?"

"Yeah?"

"You're making it through a lot right now."

"Talking a lot, I guess." She stops mid-chew. "Am I going to be put in a home?"

"No, kiddo, unless you mean a foster home where you can be taken care of. But we're going to find you people who can help you."

"I don't want to go." She brushes some crumbs off her lap. "I can take care of myself. I'm old enough."

"You can't, honey, not at sixteen."

"I hate you." It's childish, but she doesn't have the energy to find a better way to channel her emotions.

"That's all right. You can hate me." The doctor's cool nature makes Shepard instantly sorry she said it. "But I'm still allowed to like you, aren't I?"

"You shouldn't. I cause a lot of trouble."

"You know, among military people, that's considered a compliment."

Shepard snorts. "I'm not built for the military."

"I never thought I was built to be a doctor."

Shepard takes too many seconds to respond to that. Finally she says, "I don't want to be stuck with any more needles."

"I won't as long as you don't give me a reason to. Hold on." There's a faint buzzing noise, a comm channel open, and she takes two long strides before she's in the doorway, keeping her voice low. Shepard could strain to hear her, but she doesn't. There's hardly a point. She picks at her food, then throws out the rest of it. Her stomach hurts.

It's nearly half an hour before the doctor is back. She comes back and swiftly knocks her own food, now cold, into the garbage can before sitting down.

"Shepard, you said your parents were dead?"

"Yes."

"You are absolutely certain of that?"

"I saw them. I don't think you can get much more sure."

Vogel falters a little. "They've gotten some of the hostages released, but they'll require intense medical supervision for a while yet. Another ship on the area has better medical equipment than we do, and if there's no reason to move you over there, it's in everyone's best interest if we continue to another system."

"We're leaving Mindoir? When?"

"In about two hours."

Shepard will never fully be able to remember what happens next. For the rest of her life, when she thinks back to this moment, all she'll know is pitch blackness and pain and a teenage girl's voice screaming, "_No, fuck you!_" The voice will ring in her ears and fade slowly, and an indeterminate amount of time later she'll hear someone murmuring to her, "Come on, honey, time to go to sleep. You've got a big day tomorrow."

In the morning, she'll find out it's because they had to knock her out again, orally this time, and it took double the normal dosage for someone her size and build.


	4. Chapter 4

**DAY THREE**

"Nyoom. _Nyoooooooom_."

In her left hand Shepard has a model ship held over her head and in her right, a fistful of the couch. A woman – _Katherine, my foster mother_ - looks up from the doorway and smiles.

"You like models?"

"I guess." Shepard stops flying the ship above her head long enough to study it a little. "My father did. He had a shelf of them that went across the living room. I always figured they were a guy thing. Mom said models were a waste of time."

"Did she?" Katherine says noncommittally. "Do you want to tell me more about that?"

"No. Not really."

"Well, the people who brought you over have helped me settle the paperwork, so did you want me to show you around the house? My name is Katherine – I know they told you that. I hear you like to be called by your last name."

"Yeah." Shepard eyes the model in her hand. She is distinctly sure her dad had one exactly like this, but she doesn't say so.

"If you'd like to keep that in your room, you're welcome to. Nobody else plays with them."

The redhead looks up. "I get my own room again?"

"You do. Do you like that idea, sweet?"

"Maybe. Did the doctor and all those people leave? I didn't…I didn't say thank you."

Katherine offers her a hand and Shepard gets up, pointedly ignoring it in favor of clutching the ship. "I'm sure we can get a message to them. The doctor on board told me a lot about you."

"I left an impression on _her_, I'm sure."

Katherine shrugs. "She told me what you had been through and said you were reacting appropriately. Was that wrong?"

"I don't know." Shepard scrapes at the carpet with a socked foot. "She didn't tell me much, but I was on a lot of pills, so I could have just forgotten. Do you have kids?" she asks on impulse.

That draws a smile from the woman. "I don't have any of my own – I usually do long-term foster placements – but there is a little girl staying with me right now. She's here on respite for two weeks so the people who take care of her can have some time to themselves. I've left her watching a movie in her room for now. Shall we go up so you can meet her?"

Shepard looks away. "I didn't have any brothers or sisters on Mindoir," she says tonelessly.

"Do you think you'll enjoy having a sister for a couple of weeks?"

"Not really, ma'am. I'd rather…I'd rather have the others back." She stares at the floor, but her voice is getting choked. Damn it.

"Come, then, honey." Katherine places a hand on the girl's shoulder. "You don't have to talk to her now if you don't want to. Let me just show you where your room is and I'll help you make up the bed. How does that sound?"

"Sure," she says with no enthusiasm, and she holds everything back for fifteen minutes. In fifteen minutes Katherine leaves her alone and Shepard is free to bury her face in a pillow and scream until it hurts.

* * *

Katherine leaves her alone for most of the day, checking in every so often and promptly being sent away by an increasingly hoarse voice. At seven-thirty she leans into the doorway and says, "Amvea is going to go to bed now. Will you come say good night to her, please?"

"Hate you," Shepard rasps. It earns her fifteen more minutes of peace. By the time Katherine comes in again, Shepard feels like someone's wrapped forty bandages around her chest. Katherine ruffles her hair.

"Have you been screaming all day?"

"I think so." It hurts to raise her voice above a whisper. "A long time, at least. It makes my insides feel better."

"Oh, _honey_," she says, and puts an arm around her. Shepard pushes away.

"Go away. I hate you and I hate that kid."

Katherine raises an eyebrow, but her tone remains good-natured. "Oh, come now. Don't be mean to Amvea. You don't even know her yet."

"Fine. I just hate you."

"We'll work on that." Katherine gives her a pat on the shoulder. "Now, why don't you have a shower and go to bed?"

"I don't have any pajamas or clean clothes."

"I have something you can wear until we go to the store. I checked your size." She holds up the clothes from Vogel's emergency stash. "These are yours, aren't they?"

"_No!_" Shepard winces with her own outburst. "Burn them. Please. I don't want them."

"It's okay, it's okay. I can put them somewhere where you won't see them. What about what you're wearing?"

Shepard brings her hands up to hug herself. "Don't…"

"I won't. There are some pajamas on the chair if you would like them." As Shepard gets up and goes to see, Katherine continues talking. "I hope you'll be ready to meet Amvea tomorrow morning. She was so excited earlier when I told her you were coming to stay."

"How old's she?"

"She's four. Do you like kids?"

Shepard shrugs, unfolding the shirt. "Do you have to stay in here while I change? And sleep?"

"No." Katherine seems puzzled. "Who gave you that idea?"

The suicide watch must be over. Thank God. "I don't know."

"Well, I'll leave you alone so you can get changed. Would you like your door open or shut for sleeping?"

Shepard glares at her. "Stop asking me questions," she says, deliberately pronouncing every syllable.

"All right." And she closes it, which is not what Shepard wants.

* * *

**DAY FOUR**

There's a clock by her bed, the analog kind, and Shepard watches the hands rotate until she nods off just after two. Her heart thuds against her chest so fast she finally takes her pulse, then has to do it again to make sure. Her heart rate is over 150.

Her sleeping mind conjures up images of the rest of the Shepard family on Mindoir, gruesome pictures with blood everywhere. She wakes up crying and shuts herself in the bathroom, dry heaving because she hasn't eaten, until there's a knock at the door.

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"Who are you?" she screams.

"It's Katherine, honey. Stop screaming. You're going to damage something."

The idea of permanent damage doesn't sound all that bad right now. "No! Go away!"

She gets less than two minutes before there's another knock and the door opens. A tiny, blurry form is standing in the doorway.

"Why are you screaming?" a sleepy voice asks.

"_Go away_!" Shepard drops to her elbows, nausea riding up harder, trying to breathe. The blackness presses in, a hard scribble of noise and darkness, and she screams and tries to get away, but it comes down harder. Someone's speaking to her but she can't understand them, and a hand's on the back of her head.

"Shepard, can you hear me?"

"_Mother_!"

"No, honey. It's Katherine. Can you hear me?"

She beats her heels against the floor and cries out because she can't see. The pain is distracting, wrenches cries from her throat, and when she starts to slow she feels Katherine lift her to a sitting position.

"Shepard. Honey. Have some water."

She chokes it down and gulps in air, watching as her vision starts to clear, then collapses bonelessly to the floor.

"All right. Better?"

"_Mother_…!" She gives a last kick and hits something solid. The resulting clang makes her wince. "Yes. Fine."

Katherine is kneeling on the floor next to her. "Were you feeling sick?" she asks, noticing Shepard's position relative to the toilet.

The burning in her chest is catching up with her, and she has to go back to whispering again. "Yes. But I haven't eaten."

"That's true. Amvea, honey, go back to sleep," she says as a tiny blue hand appears around the doorway, then a head. Shepard stares blankly at her.

"You have an _asari_ staying with you?"

"Yes," says the childish voice. "Embrace eternity."

Shepard laughs a little because surely she's seen it all now, and Katherine pats the little girl around the shoulders. "Go on back to bed, sweetie."

"Did someone teach her to say that?" Shepard asks when Amvea is gone.

"She picked it up from the television," Katherine says with a smile. "She hasn't got a clue what it means. Now, can I help you to your room?" She extends a hand, and this time Shepard takes it.

"Katherine, are you allowed to have an asari staying with you?"

"She's only here for two weeks, sweet, I told you. Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"No, why would it? I was just curious." She pulls the blankets up to her chin, wrapping herself up like a burrito in an attempt to find security. It doesn't work.

Katherine's fingers trace the redhead's forehead. "Is there anything you would like to tell me?"

"No. I want to go back to sleep," she lies. Lies because she is afraid of the visions, doesn't want to be left alone with them, and yet it doesn't feel any better with a woman she barely knows in the room. When her caregiver is in the doorway Shepard calls, "Katherine?"

"Yes?"

"They're dead," she says, and her voice cracks. "They're all fucking dead. And I don't want 'em to be dead."

"I know, sweet." And as Shepard begins to sob she comes back to sit by the bed, whispering a quiet, "Shh, shh," and she stays there until Shepard cries herself dry and falls into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

She begins to stir again at six even though she never got up this early on Mindoir. Her eyes are swollen and her stomach hurts, but she doesn't feel confused when she wakes up. She just feels empty somehow, like something has gone away overnight. And she is so, so cold. She burrows further into the blankets, feels her foot brush against the hoodie at the foot of the bed, and puts it on. She wishes it still smelled like Mindoir.

In the hallway she hears little footsteps and her pulse quickens, but the door doesn't open. She closes her eyes and pretends she is far away, back at home. At six forty-five the door opens and Shepard opens her eyes. It's Amvea, still clad in pajamas.

"Shh, honey," says Katherine's voice. "It's still early. She isn't up yet."

"Her eyes are open," Amvea insists.

Katherine glances into the room and puts on a smile. "Oh, good morning, sweet. You're awake early." When Shepard doesn't respond, she adds, "Would you like breakfast?"

Hunger gnaws at her stomach, but the idea of having to be around these people who are not her family outweighs it. "No. Not really."

"You must be hungry. Why don't you just have some toast? It'll make you feel better."

"I just want to sleep." She pulls the blanket over her head. A moment later she feels Katherine's hand on her shoulder.

"Shepard. Honey. I really need you to get up and have something to eat." Shepard peeks out from under the blankets and Katherine continues. "The rule in this house is that everyone eats together as a family. Yesterday was only different because you were so upset."

"I'm still upset, and I'm not your family. Go away."

Oddly, Katherine smiles. "Someday, I want you to tell me all about your family. Now, we have to do some things today. After we have breakfast you and I are going to go out and buy you some clothes…"

"I don't want to buy clothes. I just want to stay here." Shepard combs her fingers loosely through her hair. "How long will I stay here?"

"In this house, you mean? Unless there was a serious problem, the plan is for you to stay here until you're eighteen and come out of the system."

"What kind of serious problem?"

"Not the kind you can create. Usually it's because a child is being hurt at home and their parents find out where they are. Things like that."

"My parents loved me." As she says it, she feels every ounce of hatred and anger drain out of her.

"I know, sweet." Katherine takes Shepard's hand and without another word she slips out of bed and pads to the kitchen table. Amvea, still in pajamas, is sitting at one end with her thumb in her mouth. She looks up, studying Shepard.

"You're a lot bigger than the sisters I have at home," she says matter-of-factly. "I never had a big big sister before, even for a little while."

Shepard wants to say something rude, but for crying out loud, this kid's little. She doesn't have it in her. "You'd consider a human your sister?"

Amvea shrugs. "My mummy says humans are a lot like us." She looks up at Shepard with large glassy eyes. "How did you get that mark on your neck?" she asks, poking the stitches, and on reflex Shepard knocks her hand away, throwing herself backwards and into a battle-ready stance. Amvea recoils immediately. "Ow!"

"Shepard," Katherine says warningly. "Sit down. Amvea, that isn't a polite question."

Shepard is still standing. "Do you know?" she demands.

"Do I know what?"

"How that happened." She motions loosely to her neck. "Do you?"

"Yes. I looked over the file when I brought you in. Sit down, please."

"I'm not crazy," Shepard says, but she sits down. "I'm really not."

"No, you aren't. Do you like white or wheat?"

"Wheat." Relief washes over her at such an everyday question. "Thanks a bunch."

* * *

A few hours later, they're coming out of the shops. Katherine's carrying a bag of clothes and other necessities, and Shepard has under her arm a tiny model ship. Some kind of small remembrance.

The rest of the day goes towards assembling it. And she throws pillows across the room for a little while, but for some reason it doesn't go on as long as the screaming did. In fact, when she's tired of doing it she actually feels a little better.


	5. Chapter 5

**DAY SEVEN**

It's Wednesday again. How strange to think that all over the galaxy, time is the same. And how strange that it keeps moving.

A week ago, the batarians came down. Eight days ago, she still had a family. It feels like the world should have stopped, but only her own little world has. For the moment there's no classes to learn, no farming to help with, and nothing to do but build model ships and use the extranet and try to find a book to read where nobody dies. And deal with that kid. There's nothing wrong with Amvea, yet Shepard can't help but resent her. Whatever the reason she's in foster care, she's _happy_. And Shepard…well, Katherine is calling her to get out of bed at twelve-fifteen in the afternoon.

"Go away. I got up earlier."

"You're trying my patience."

Shepard knows that tone well from her parents – _my late parents_ – and she sits up, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. Katherine's face softens.

"Honey, I know this is hard, but you aren't helping yourself by lying in bed all day. You'll feel better if you get dressed."

"You told me that yesterday, and I didn't." She stares at her knees. "I haven't got a point in getting up anymore. There's no school, no family, nothing."

"Do you think it would help if you went to school? I was planning on waiting a while, but we can do it now."

Shepard's eyes widen and her hands go out in front of her. "No, I can't! I never went to school before. My parents…taught me on the farm." She lowers her hands slowly, a little ashamed at her overreaction.

"That's right," Katherine says softly, pulling Shepard closer. "You lived on a farm, didn't you? Why don't you tell me about that?"

"Fuck off," Shepard says on reflex.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean to say that." The redhead buries her face in her hands. "Katherine, the days just go _so slowly_."

"I know, honey." She rubs Shepard's shoulder. "Why don't you take a hot bath? Maybe it will lift your mood."

"So I can sit and cry in a bath but not in bed?"

"You don't want a bath? When have you last washed your hair?"

Shepard runs a hand through it, feeling the grime. "Maybe three days."

To her credit, Katherine doesn't look disgusted. "Come on. You're not doing yourself any favors."

"I know. It's just too much energy."

She takes Shepard's chin in her hand. "I hope you know, honey, that I'm only pushing you because I care about you. You need to take care of yourself."

"Katherine, I can't. I'm just so tired." Shepard places both hands over her heart. "It physically hurts, right here. The books say it doesn't hurt forever, but I don't think that's right. Anyway, I _should_ hurt for them for…for the rest of my life, I guess."

"It's a different kind of hurt." Katherine sandwiches Shepard's cold hands between her own. "You are always going to remember how much it hurts right now, and you are always going to miss them, but what you're feeling right now will get better."

"When will that happen?"

"They usually say about a year."

By that time she'll be close to graduating high school. They'll never see her graduate. Shepard pushes that down, her lip quivering. "I can't take it. It makes me cry and I hate crying."

"Maybe you need another way to express how you feel," Katherine suggests.

"Last time I tried expressing how I felt, I almost died."

She meets Shepard's eyes. "How about we talk about that some more?"

"How about no?"

"Honey, I know there's a very happy person under the way you feel right now. Let's help her come out."

Shepard crosses her arms over her chest in resignation. "I don't think that's going to happen."

"Well, let's give it our best shot. First," Katherine says, ruffling the younger's hair, "you're going to take a hot bath. Then we'll go out and run errands, and when we come back you can work on your model. How does that sound?"

"I finished it last night." She gestures to the shelf, where it stands alongside the first.

"Oh, so you did. It looks very nice." Katherine pats her around the shoulder. "We'll get you a new one. They're not hard to come by."

"They were on Mindoir." Shepard takes a breath and lets it out slowly. "Everything's so different, Katherine. Even I'm different."

"You are. But you know what?" Katherine holds her close. "Some of the greatest minds are shaped by loss. And as they say, every hero needs an origin story."

"I'm not a hero," Shepard says with a little scoff, but she gets up and goes to turn on the shower.

* * *

**DAY FIFTEEN**

"I have a weird bread thing," Amvea announces, waving a pretzel above her head as Shepard comes in the door and drops her bag onto a chair. Shepard manages a little smile.

"That's called a pretzel."

"I never had one before." The asari takes another bite. "Have you?"

"Yeah, a couple times. Where's Katherine?"

"I'm right here." Katherine looks up from where she's chopping onions and smiles. "How was your first day at school, sweet?"

Shepard shrugs. "It was fine. No big deal."

"I'm proud of you."

"For what? Other kids do this every day."

"I'll go to school, too," Amvea adds. "But I have to get bigger first."

"Yes, you will, honey." Katherine nods in her direction, not looking away from Shepard. "So tell me about your day."

Another shrug. "It was nothing really. They all did work and the teachers said they'd catch me up and stuff." She pauses, pursing her lips. "Oh, and some military recruiter kept summoning people. He wanted to talk to me."

"And how was that?"

"It was fine. He asked me a bunch of questions and gave me some pamphlets and stuff. I told him I'd think about it." Shepard reaches into her pocket and unfolds the pieces of paper, glancing at them.

"Do you think that's something you might like to do?" Katherine's expression is unreadable. "It's not a decision you should take lightly."

"I don't know. I mean, my dad wanted me in the military and – " Shepard stops cold, then turns and walks off in the direction of her room.

"Shepard?"

"No. Never mind," she says sharply.

"Honey – " Katherine catches up with her and touches her on the arm. Shepard stops, then faces her.

"I'm sorry. I…" Shepard brings her hands up to her face. "He talked about it a lot, Katherine. And I was thinking about it even before the raid, but now and with the one that man was representing…"

Katherine's voice is very soft. "Which one was he representing, sweet?"

"He was recruiting for the Alliance. The people who saved my life."

And Katherine holds her.

* * *

**DAY TWENTY-THREE**

The worst part about crying is that it makes your eyes swollen and raw. Shepard turns in early because it's made her face hurt, reciting something like a prayer before she falls asleep. Perhaps she's speaking to God or her parents or maybe she isn't speaking to anyone at all. Thinking about it makes her worry.

Just before dawn she wakes up, feeling the way sleep has warmed her body, and pulls on her Mindoir clothes. She can hear a soft noise, a quiet but insistent tapping, and she follows it to the back door. It's drizzling outside. She opens the door and heads out without a second thought.

Shepard lifts her eyes to the sky. The sun is beginning to rise, poking through the clouds, and she breathes in and out to let the scent of rain fill her lungs. She doesn't flinch, doesn't even move, not even when the drops start coming down harder. The sun comes up in a terrific flash of yellow and orange, announcing its arrival well before it's fully there. Her lungs burn, like she's been holding her breath ever since the raid. Sometimes it feels that way.

"Shepard?"

She turns, and over her shoulder, there's Katherine, standing in the doorway.

"What are you doing? You'll catch cold."

"Look!" Shepard shouts, spreading her arms. "It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Wet strands of red obscure her vision, but she can see Katherine approaching, flinching at the rain and taking her by the shoulder.

"Come inside, sweet," she coaxes, and Shepard allows herself to be led.

"Katherine!" she murmurs. "Look! It's so pretty!"

"It is pretty, isn't it?" Katherine says, but she doesn't _know_, doesn't appreciate it the way the younger does. "Come back in and get some rest, honey. How long have you been awake?"

And Shepard inhales, and it's wonderful, because she feels like she can finally breathe again. It still doesn't feel like things are okay right now, but for the first time in a long time, she knows they're going to be.

**END**


End file.
